Sled
by Connie Welsh
Summary: "Trash can lids are not inner-tubes Dean! Not even close!" Day 20 of the 25 Days of Fic Tumblr Challenge


"Sammy! Sammy, wake up! Come on, rise and shine, up up up!"

Dean was shaking him persistently, and Sam groaned, shoving uncoordinatedly at his brother's hands.

"Dean, what? What's wrong?" Sam whined sleepily, glancing at the clock that told him he still had a half an hour before his alarm went off. He rolled over onto his back to peer confusedly at his brother.

"What's _wrong?_ What's wrong is that we are looking at the single greatest snow day ever, and you're still in bed!"

"Snow day?" Sam echoed, frowning, and Dean huffed in exasperation.

"Yes Sammy, snow. That white, cold, fluffy stuff that falls from the sky and makes them cancel school? Any of this ringing a bell, Mr Straight-A Student?"

"Schools canceled?"

"Oh my god, yes!" Dean finally exclaimed with frustration, grabbing a fist-full of Sam's blankets and throwing them off the bed, ignoring Sam's squeal of indignation, "Come _on!_ Time's a-wasting!"

Sam growled at the ceiling as Dean starting throwing clothes at him, whistling "Let It Snow" while he went.

"Dude, the fact that you're sixteen years old and more excited about this snow day then me is a little worrying," Sam commented dryly, sitting up slowly and pushing the pile of clothes to the side so he could amble into the bathroom.

"No, it just means you're boring by nature," Dean chirped, "And it's my job to beat it out of you by whatever means necessary. Now hurry up, I wanna see if the diner down the street stayed open."

A hot shower and three layers later, Sam was trudging miserably beside his brother through five inches of snow, and throwing menacing glances up at the still-falling flakes.

The diner was not, in fact, open, so they had settled for the power bars in Dean's jacket pocket, which were nowhere near enough to satisfy either of their appetites.

"Dean, where the hell are we going?" Sam complained, tugging the edges of his hat more firmly over his ears.

"The Valley, Sam, where else would one go on such a glorious day?" Dean smiled, trembling with either barely-contained excitement or else the bitter cold that must be creeping down the back of his exposed neck, Sam wasn't sure which.

"The Valley?" He echoed, and Dean nudged him, nearly sending him tripping into a snow pile on the slippery sidewalk.

"You a parrot or something? Yeah, the Valley."

"Dean, we don't have _sleds_," Sam reminded him, "What are we going to do there?"

William Everly Park, affectionately known by the local kids as "The Valley," for it's steep, grassy hills, was one of the first things Sam heard about upon coming to their town of the month. It was the place to be, he had been informed, if you have a need for speed and a sled to fulfil it.

"Got it covered, Sammy, relax," Dean assured him with a mischievous grin, "Just hold onto your hat and let me take care of the rest."

Dean "taking care of it," as it turned out, was stealing two big, metal trash can lids and unscrewing the handles off of them.

"This is so unsafe," Sam said fearfully, staring at the steep hillside stretching out in front of him, the cold metal lid clenched tight in his hands.

"Don't be such a wimp, Sam," Dean said, laying his lid on the ground and plopping into it, heels dug into the snow to keep him put while he waited for Sam, "They're practically like those tube things ski resorts have."

"Trash can lids are not inner-tubes Dean! Not even close!" Sam argued, glancing embarrassedly at the group of high schoolers a few feet down, who were looking at their makeshift sleds with a mixture of pity and mockery.

Despite the early hour, Sam and Dean were not the only ones at The Valley, groups of other kids of varying ages had already began to gather on their various, favorite hillsides.

Dean, of course, had picked the steepest, bumpiest one he could find.

Dean noticed where Sam's eyes had glanced, casting his own toward the group and giving them a bright smile and a wave.

"Hey! What's up!" He called, and a couple people gave him a courtesy wave in return, while others just gave him a look.

"Don't worry about those snobs," Dean turned to him to say intently, "Come on, Sam, it'll be _awesome_."

"Or put us in the hospital."

Dean looked heavenward with a groan of frustration, "Dude, you worry too much!"

"Someone has to, since you don't!"

Dean sighed, looking at him seriously for a moment.

"You leave me no choice, Sam."

The next thing Sam knew, Dean had grabbed him and pulled him onto his lap on the sled, his hunter-fast reflexes giving no time for Sam to pull away.

"Dean, no!" Sam shouted with genuine terror, fighting Dean's strong arms around his chest as his brother kicked off, sending them flying down the hillside.

"Hold on, Sammy!" Dean whooped with delight, pulling his legs up to bracket Sam's and his arm tightening around Sam's chest tightly, the other hand holding firmly to the side of their improvised sled.

"Oh god oh god oh god," Sam chanted, blindly reaching for the edge of the sled with one hand, and getting a death-grip on Dean's sleeve with the other.

"Yeah! Woooo!" Dean crowed, leaning to the left, taking them off to the side to go over a big snow-clump that sent them bouncing and skittering, Sam unable to contain his shout of fear.

"Got ya, Sammy," Dean laughed in his ear, "Don't worry, I got ya."

"I'm going to kill you, Dean!"

"No you won't! Hold on tight, Sammy!" Dean cheered, leaning right to take them over what had to be a tree-stump, buried in the snow.

"Dean, wait!" Sam warned in a scream, but too late, the edge of the sled hit the stump and sent them airborne, both of them lifting off the bottom of the lid.

Sam had never been in a car accident, but he imagined that the impact was something like the jarring slam of them hitting the ground again so hard it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

They skittered and bounced the rest of the way down and finally capsized at the bottom, dumped into the wet snow with an _omph!_

Sam was sprawled on his back, looking wide-eyed at the gently falling snow above him as he tried to catch his breath.

"Haha!" Dean hooted next to him, sitting up triumphantly, clumps of snow stuck to his hair and caught in his eye lashes, "What I'd tell you, Sammy, awesome!"

"I hate you," Sam groaned, sitting up carefully, "I think I broke my tailbone."

"Let's go again," Dean demanded, picking up the dented lid in one hand and scooping up under Sam's arms with the other, pulling him upright.

"I'm not doing that again!" Sam sputtered indignantly, pulling himself out of Dean's grip and rubbing his tailbone gingerly.

"Come on, Sammy, it wasn't so bad," Dean coaxed sweetly, throwing his arm around his brother again and pulling him in tight against his side, "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"

Sam sighed heavily, tromping with difficulty through the thick snow, "No more aiming for tree stumps!" he demanded, shoving Dean away to better adjust his balance on the steep incline and Dean laughed, grinning like a madman.

"Scout's honor," he vowed.

"And I get my own lid! No more manhandling me!"

If Sam absolutely _had_ to admit it, he would say that it wasn't all bad. Sure, the lids were pretty crap sleds, really, but they kept something between you and the snow, and as long as you held on tight, they took you all the way to the bottom.

In what felt like no time at all, four hours had passed, and Dean was proposing they check on that diner, see if they had cleared up enough snow on the roads to let the workers get there.

They had, and Sam had never been so grateful to be scarfing down a tuna melt in his life, his brother flirting with the waitress over his double cheeseburger.

Sometimes, he had to admit, his brother really knew how to relish a snow day.


End file.
